


John Sheppard and the Pegasus Kid

by riani1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode: s03e10-e11 The Return, Exile, M/M, stuck on earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-17 11:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5867680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riani1/pseuds/riani1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored geniuses should be distracted before things get out of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Sheppard and the Pegasus Kid

**Author's Note:**

> Uploading an old story

John Sheppard told himself that he enjoyed not laboring under the burden of command anymore. His temperament was better suited towards being a Stargate Command offworld team leader, not towards being responsible for the welfare of several hundred people on the frontiers of Earth-explored space. 

It wasn't true, but that's what he told himself when he was sulking in his office between missions. It kept him from lurking in the control room, hovering over the shoulders of the lucky bastards who had a say in what happened when and where.

He checked his email to see if McKay had responded to his latest message. Rodney tried to hide it, but he got extra tense during the days leading up to John going offworld. The scathing emails didn't come as regularly as during quieter times, which only emphasized John's own dissatisfaction with going on missions without any of his own trusted team.

The only items in his Inbox were notices on parking, reminders that camera phones were liable for seizure if misused, and other minutiae that struck John as hopelessly irrelevant. He sighed and switched windows to his SimCity game. The unexpected knock on his office door made him jump and lay nine segments of highway through an area he'd planned for a park.

"Sorry," Sam Carter said, "didn't mean to startle you."

"No, that's OK." He closed the game quickly. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"

Sam stood in his doorway, rolling a sheaf of papers in her hands, then stepped in and closed the door behind her. "I was wondering--when's the last time you talked to Rodney?"

"Talked to as in hearing his voice or talked to as in communicated with him?"

"Either. Both." 

John studied the papers in her hands. They weren't covered in formulas, from what he could see, so maybe this wasn't science geek territory. "He called me last weekend, and I got an email from him yesterday. I've been expecting an email."

"You're supposed to go through the gate tomorrow, aren't you?"

"I'm supposed to, yes." She frowned, and he leaned back in his chair. "What's going on, Colonel?"

She took a deep breath and handed over the papers.

The top page was a xerox of a newspaper clipping from the Wells, Nevada, paper, describing an after-hours robbery at the local bank. The notable element of the robbery was that it wasn't discovered until the sheriff got to his office in the morning and found the cash stolen from the vault on his desk, accompanied by a note criticizing local security. No suspect was named, but it was believed to be a bank employee making a particularly sharp point.

John finished reading and looked up at Sam. She gestured for him to continue.

The next document was a report from the FBI, describing a casino robbery in Laughlin, Nevada, where, again, the cash stolen from the counting room was found on the desk of the security chief. All the money was accounted for, and there was another note insulting the security procedures of the casino. Along with the note was a stuffed animal, described as a flying horse.

"A Pegasus," John said slowly, chills creeping up his arms. 

Sam nodded. "Only someone with phenomenal skill with computers and engineering could have gotten past the security cameras and the vault doors."

John licked his lips. "And Rodney naturally popped into your mind." He blinked at the slow blush that crept up her cheeks.

"Once," she said slowly, "when I was hurt and recuperating, I got bored and--well, security on the computers at the Denver Mint wasn't nearly as stringent as it should have been. I sent an anonymous email to the Treasury Department outlining the flaws I found."

"And you knew this wasn't you, so . . ."

She shrugged, but she looked grim. "The SGC knows that very smart people get bored easily, and they'll turn a blind eye to most things, but robbing an actual bank and a casino--" She looked at the papers. "Though I am wondering how he got past--" She shook herself.

John pulled up his email again, just in case. Still nothing from Rodney. He picked up his phone and hit speed dial 2.

"I don't think you're going to get anything other than voice mail," Sam said. "I've been calling all morning."

He waited through Rodney's curt recording to leave a message but not to expect a reply because he was a busy man. "It'd be a damned good idea to call me, Rodney. Before you go visiting any more casinos or banks or anything like that. Colonel Carter is curious about some of your techniques." 

He hung up and Sam frowned. "That's not very subtle."

"Rodney doesn't do subtle." He picked up the FBI report again, then dropped it. "God knows where he's gone." He saw Sam shift. "God--and you?"

She shrugged and didn't meet his eyes. "It's--something we put together when we realized how much of a pain the Trust could be. Part of the inoculations Rodney got when you all got back."

John leaned forward. "A tracker."

She shrugged again. "Sometimes people get nabbed. This helps us find them."

"I got those shots, too. Is there a tracker in me?"

Her face went 'I outrank you' cool. "I hope so. It should match the one in me and Mitchell and everyone else. In any case, yes, I know where Rodney is." Her military facade cracked. "Roughly."

John managed with great difficulty not to give in to his "Atlantis-folk rule!" smirk. "Rodney's blocking it, isn't he."

"There's--interference. But what I've got is enough to be very worrying. He's on the Vegas strip."

I mustn't snicker in glee, John told himself. "I guess Monte Carlo was a little far for a weekend trip."

"Sheppard, do you know what's going to happen if Rodney gets caught breaking into the vaults of a major Las Vegas casino?"

"He gets thrown in jail, calls the SGC, sits around complaining about the accommodations until someone gets him out of there, then he's scolded and told he can't leave Area 51 without permission?"

Sam gaped at him for a moment, then shook herself. "Or he gets shot by security. Or some mobster type gets hold of him and does horrible things."

John had to concede that those sorts of things had happened before in other corners of the universe. "I don't think the mob is as much into Vegas as people think--but I take your point," he added at her outraged look. "We ought to stop him. God knows what the Pegasus Kid will try his hand at next if we don't."

They both paused to contemplate a bored and frustrated Rodney McKay, looking for bigger and better challenges for his evil genius.

John muttered a curse. "I've got a gate trip coming up--don't I?" he continued, seeing Sam shake her head.

"Your team's on stand-down till we get Rodney . . . settled. I need you to go to Las Vegas."

"You got me a fast car?"

She managed a grin. "No, I thought you'd prefer a fast F-16."

***

He had to file a flight plan from Colorado Springs to Nellis Air Force Base in Las Vegas, but that didn't stop him from taking a few detours around and between the peaks of the Rocky Mountains, reveling in the pull of Gs and the roar of the afterburner. Once he got in range of the tracking systems of Area 51, John returned to his flight plan, but he pushed his throttle as far as it would go and laughed as the planet he was born on flashed by beneath.

He hadn't stopped grinning by the time he landed and taxied to the SGC's hangar at Nellis. The airman he handed his flight gear to shook her head as she turned away. 

"Is there a problem, Airman?" he asked in a genial voice that hadn't forgotten yet what it was like to pull the reins in on fractious junior servicepeople.

She stiffened gratifyingly. "No, Colonel."

"Didn't think so." He picked up the suitcase he'd stashed with him in the cockpit. "So how do I get to the Strip?"

He changed into civvies before calling the taxi, and he didn't use his rank when he checked in at Caesar's. Sam had offered to provide a credit card from a discreet Stargate Command dummy account, but he'd reassured her that he could cover the costs. He let her assume that Atlantis backpay was sufficient and didn't say anything about personal lines of credit. He just hoped his family's accountants wouldn't notice the activity.

The view from his high room included the grand lagoon of the Bellagio next door and the long line of the Vegas Strip, looking more than a little sad in the afternoon sun. John stood awhile, staring at the lagoon and thinking of tall, silver spires against an endless ocean. He then went to his suitcase and pulled out the scanner Sam had given him. This close, Rodney's tracker gave out too powerful a signal for whatever means Rodney was using to successfully block his location. A quick comparison to his GPS system put the wayward genius at New York New York down the street.

He debated going down now and convincing Rodney that hanging out in bars and whistling at showgirls would be a lot more fun than pulling off a personal caper flick, but he wasn't sure yet what he was going to say: "I'm glad you haven't embraced the Dr. Evil look"? The timing of these heists hadn't escaped him. Rodney was using these brain challenges to distract himself from John going offworld, and John thought he ought to have a reaction in place other than "That's kind of sweet, in a stupidly reckless way that I'm going to kick you for."

Until he decided to make his move, he was going to go outside in the sun. How the people in Cheyenne Mountain didn't turn into things like those eyeless albino fish in caves, he didn't know. The number of oblivious tourists out in the street, however, made it impossible for him to do anything other than scan the skies for Wraith darts and culling beams. Maybe there was someplace out on the roof, where he could lose himself in the blue, blue sky.

***

Lots of old movies had made John wonder if a tuxedo was still de rigueur for Vegas evening wear, but a quick glance around the public areas of Caesar's showed him that standards had definitely slipped since the good old days. The only ones who showed any effort at dressing up were the ones headed for the clubs and bars with an eye towards attracting as much attention as possible. Even so, too many people embracing the "what happens in Vegas" mantra were looking him over, and him in just old jeans, a new Johnny Cash t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. Maybe it was the way he was watching everyone else, looking for the latest threat to materialize. 

He'd seen far less exotic scenes on worlds in another galaxy than what bustled around him now. With the neon and music and loud voices pounding at him, he found himself wishing for a nice quiet evening in the Athosian village, sampling the new fruit mead with Halling while watching Jinto chase his buddies around the tents. The longing made him have to stop in the shadow of yet another half-naked Roman goddess until he could get his face and mind under control.

Maybe this was one reason for Rodney's assaults against the institutions and proprieties of Earth. He didn't want to be here any more than John did, and rattling the bars of the cage relieved some of the frustration. OK, this was just another mission in a bizarre, alien world. He just happened to speak the language naturally and was more familiar with the basic social customs than usual. Find McKay, extract him from whatever mess the inappropriate use of his brilliance had gotten him into, get out. 

The oblivious crowds were still giving him the creeps, so he took a taxi down to New York New York. The cabbie took his cue from John's quiet watchfulness and kept all chatter to himself. When he climbed out of the cab and headed for the doors of the casino, John felt as obvious as he did when strolling into a quiet farming village with him and his team in full military gear. No wonder people kept giving them suspicious looks, the "peaceful trader" line had to sound like a con.

The casino was plush and shiny, but it smelled like a bowling alley. Vegas would probably be the last American city to institute laws against indoor smoking. John paused by the penny video poker machines to get his bearings. The tracker looked enough like a fancy cellphone that he didn't feel too obvious about pulling it out to get a bead on McKay. About 30 yards away, in the direction of the blackjack tables. With the maze of machines and tables, though, he might as well be tracking someone through an offworld primeval forest.

He turned at a tug on his sleeve. A predatory-looking old lady peered at him. "Are you using that machine, sonny?"

"Uh, no."

She nodded sharply and whipped around him to drop into the seat. "Mabel, over here!" She shoved a card of some sort into a slot on the machine and peered through her trifocals at the options on the screen. Another old lady zipped around him, patting his arm as she went to take the seat next to her friend.

John carefully retreated and started working his way through the maelstrom of noise and lights.

He didn't risk the tracker again for fear of attracting the attention of security, who had a discreet but plentiful presence on the casino floor. The ceiling was likewise covered with the domes of the Eye in the Sky cameras. He tried not to move too much like a man waiting for something to jump him.

The sound of finger snapping caught him first, and he scanned till he found a familiar receding hairline over familiar blue eyes scowling in the direction of a hostess, who very professionally did not roll her eyes as she went to get the drink order. John hung back a little, telling himself he was observing whatever con Rodney was running but really just enjoying the view.

"Rum and coke, please," Rodney snapped at the hostess. The hostess took orders from the three other people at the blackjack table, then went off. John smirked to himself. Even when he was being rude and supercilious and sarcastic, Rodney always said Please and Thank You. His mother would be proud, even as she was smacking him upside the head.

Turning back to the table, Rodney pulled out his wallet and then a couple of $100 bills. He handed them to the dealer, and John noticed he watched the bills get shoved into the cash slot in the table before he counted the chips he was given in exchange. There was a quick double-snap-fist-into-palm, then Rodney put out some chips and leaned on the table to watch the deal.

John waited through one hand--Rodney hit on a 7 showing, got a 3, then gleefully turned over the hidden 8 and scooped up his new chips--before heading over. 

"I figured you for a poker man, McKay," he said as he stopped behind Rodney's chair. "Or did Cadman beat it out of you?"

It was a good thing the hostess hadn't brought him his drink yet, because Rodney gasped, dropped his chips, and nearly fell out of his chair as he turned. "Colo--Sheppa--You!"

"Me." Neither of the seats to either side of Rodney were open, so he just stuck his hands in his pants pockets and slouched cheerfully. "Sam says Hi."

Rodney frowned. "Sam . . . oh, Sam! Oh. Sam."

"Uh huh. Though I have to say, Vegas is a nice place to hang out for a few days. Nicer than, oh, Wells. Or even Laughlin."

The frown deepened for a moment, then John saw fleeting smugness and a much smoother poker face than Rodney had managed in the past. "So what brings you to Las Vegas, Sheppard?"

"I heard you were taking a vacation here. Thought I'd see if I could catch up with you."

The hostess reappeared and handed round the drinks. Rodney took a sip from his rum and Coke, raised a doubtful eyebrow at it, then shrugged. He turned back to the table and re-sorted his chips, tossing a few out to be his bet for the next hand. "I thought you were going to be . . . out of town?" he said as the cards were dealt.

"Change of plans. Sam's idea again." Rodney was being a whole lot calmer about all of this than John thought he would be. "So since I came all this way, we should chat."

Rodney drew a King and threw the rest of his cards in. "Can't imagine about what."

OK, this was bad. Rodney was in McKay Against The World mode, and there wasn't anything John could say in public that would prove he was on Rodney's side. He moved in and leaned down. "We. Need. To. Talk," he said into Rodney's ear. "Now."

Rodney ran his chips through his fingers, then tossed a $50 chip towards the dealer. "Thanks, I'm done." He drained his drink and stood, turning to meet John's eyes. "I'm staying here at the New York."

It had been a while since he'd been invited up to someone's hotel room. "After you, McKay."

To John's surprise, Rodney wasn't staying in a high roller's penthouse, as befitted an evil genius at work. They went down an elegant but non-descript corridor in one of the hotel towers to one of several identical room doors. The room itself was a typical bland hotel room, comfortable enough but nothing outstanding decor wise. The model of the Statue of Liberty outside was visible through the window.

Rodney tossed the key card onto the desk next to the laptop, which was running a screen saver of a flying view around and between the towers of Atlantis. John recognized the footage as a recording he'd done with one of the jumpers early in their stay in the city, and he twitched in dismay at the disclosure of Atlantis to anyone who might see this. That didn't stop him from watching for a while, remembering the day and the simple joy of flying in a wonderful ship around their beautiful city. If no one knew better, they'd think it was just really good CGI of a futuristic city.

He shook himself and saw Rodney watching him with the kind of reserved wariness he normally used with a simulation configured by one of his lesser minions. "So why the stuffed Pegasus at the casino in Laughlin?" he finally asked. "An M for McKay scrawled on the wall was gauche?"

Rodney sighed and both relaxed and tensed. "It's always the grand gestures that trip you up."

John waited, but Rodney wasn't volunteering anything else. He sat on the large bed that hadn't been slept in. "Carter figured it out. Something about recognizing a fellow geek in the grips of boredom with extreme prejudice."

"It's not boredom," Rodney snapped. "It's--" He cut himself off and turned to his computer, tapping a few keys to clear the screen saver. He flipped through a few screens, entering information in places.

"What, you brought work with you on your trip to Sin City?"

"I may be taking a break, but the work doesn't. I may need to institute blackjack breaks back at the lab, I find it soothing." He finished with a quick rattle of keys, then closed the laptop. He turned to face John with crossed arms. "So you're here as the voice of authority come to rein me in?"

"Well, someone's got to, don't you think?"

"And it's not as if the SGC hasn't reduced you to errand boy anyway."

John ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "What did you think was going to happen when you got found out, Rodney?"

Some of the granite forbidding faded from Rodney's face. "To be honest, I didn't expect to be found out. You said it was Sam? How did she find out?"

"I don't know, to be honest. Maybe she's just got a regular search alert set up for suspicious things happening in the state of Nevada while you're here."

The glare was back, though aimed at the floor this time. "Which I wouldn't put past her, it's not like she would trust me farther than she could throw me, though I'd like to see her try. For all I know, one of the minions in my lab is actually a spy and everything I've been doing is being reported to Landry and O'Neill."

John frowned. "That's a little paranoid, Rodney, even for you."

Rodney slumped and sat back against the desk. "It looks like everything I've ever asked for, the minions fall all over themselves saying 'Yes, Dr. McKay,' 'You're right, Dr. McKay,' 'I'll recheck those numbers, Dr. McKay,' but you'll notice those minions are fawning all over me out at Area 51. I'm a very big fish in a sizeable pond, but meanwhile, everything important is taking place in that enormous ocean that I can't get to. As far as anyone important goes, I got more respect from Kolya than I get from some of the asses at the SGC."

The word Ocean triggered a memory in John's mind of the waves washing against the piers of Atlantis and of the breakers rolling in near the Athosian village. He sternly shook that off and promised himself a trip to Malibu for new memories of an ocean he'd loved first.

He hooked the deskchair leg with his foot and yanked it out beside Rodney, who stared at it for several moments before sighing and dropping down to sit.

"I'm not here as the official Stargate Command errand boy," John said, "and thank you very much for your glowing opinion of my career. I'll be sure to consult you when I'm writing my official biography."

"Well, it's not like they're giving you any work that's worthy of you. What's your team designation? SG-64? 99 1/2? If you've been especially good, do they let you wash SG-1's socks?"

John choked back his own bitterness. "I'm training people, Rodney. How many times have we both bitched about being saddled with people too green to survive the real world? If I can keep some kid alive a few extra days than he might have otherwise, then I count that a good day's work."

Rodney shrugged in reluctant agreement. "How many of our own people go out?"

"Nearly everybody who stayed on."

"Do you ever see them?"

John frowned a little at the calculating look on Rodney's face. "Every now and then. I ran across Lorne in the mess last week, he was eating with his new team."

"They don't let you work with anyone from Atlantis, do they?"

"Let? We've all got new assignments, Rodney, we're going to go in different directions."

"But why won't they let you have at least one person you've worked with before? Why not give the military commander of a whole base a team he trusts?"

"Again with the 'let', Rodney, what's up with that? I go where they tell me, with whom they tell me."

"It's more than that, Colonel. They're keeping you isolated from your old troops from Atlantis because you're considered a flight risk."

"A--a what? I'm not a prisoner, for Christ's sake, how can I be a flight risk?"

Rodney looked both satisfied and reluctant. "There are concerns that your loyalties may not lie primarily with the United States military chain of command."

"Hey!" He'd been accused of a lot of things, but never disloyalty. 

The reluctance was winning in Rodney's face. "I didn't write the double-secret post-Atlantis psych profile, I just hacked into it. They think the whole lot of us, with minor exceptions, were going native, were thinking more of the good of Pegasus and Atlantis rather than the benefit of Earth, as defined by American priorities. In the absence of Atlantis and Pegasus, it is believed that your strongest ties are to your old comrades and teammates. Your adherence to No Man Left Behind is well known and easily exploited. There are those who think that if you had access to both the gate and sufficient numbers of your former comrades, that you'd be tempted to dial for home-Pegasus instead of home-Earth."

"I would never--"

"No, you wouldn't." Rodney stared at the hotel room's window and the night beyond the neon. "I might."

"Huh?"

"Before I went out there, I was loyal to the science. SGC was the only place I could do the kind of work I wanted to, that was the carrot they used to keep me in line: toe the party line, keep your access to the materials you need. You know about the Siberia thing, if I hadn't wanted the science more than my freedom, I would have walked away. That's all I was thinking about when I walked through the gate behind you and into Atlantis, the science and what amazing discoveries I could claim."

"You're not like that," John protested. "Well, not completely."

Rodney flicked him a smile. "Not completely. It started to be about the people, Atlantis herself, all of us out there on the edge looking out for each other. And now they've taken it away from me, from us. And they think the old carrot is enough for me. They think I'll be a happy Terra-centric scientist, nibbling at the crumbs they give me and content to run in their maze." He brooded at the window again. "How can they keep me down on the farm, after I've seen the stars?"

"What's that got to with the SGC thinking I'm a desertion risk?" John gestured around. "Or with casinos and bank vaults?" 

"To your credit, they think it's more likely you'd resign. That's why they don't have us doing something logical like using your gene and my experience down in Antarctica making the Ancient outpost dance. They think you'd get bored and quit without the offworld adventures."

John blinked. "I never did ask what they've done with the chair and everything down there."

"I think they have some half-power genecarrier down there, coaxing out Rock-a-Bye Baby where we had it singing the 1812 Overture with full choral accompaniment."

"What's this 'we', kemo sabe?"

Rodney didn't answer the grin. "They've got a low-power crew down there because they don't trust us having control over that much power."

He wasn't grinning anymore. "Us? As in, they don't trust either you or me?"

"OK, so there was one military shrink who put 'tendency to megalomania' in my profile. And O'Neill made a joke once about 'McKay and his Antarctic supervillain hideout of doom.'"

"So, what, they think you'd go all Dr. Evil for real?"

"Please." He touched his receding hairline. "Dr. No or something."

John had completely lost his sense of whimsy. "And I'd be your right-hand henchman?"

The look on Rodney's face reminded John that scientists played in a different world of political maneuvering than workaday military pilots. "Not everyone who saw you sit in that chair was delighting in the joy of scientific discovery, Colonel. Some were wondering what it would take to control you if they ever had to."

"What kind of X-Files shit have you hacked into, McKay?"

"I've got a lot of free time at Area 51, Sheppard, what with the lack of nearly dying every third second and the demands that I pull a miracle out of my ass on cue."

John stared at him for several moments, then shook his head. "So what does all this have to do with casinos and banks and all that?"

Rodney shrugged and tried not to look sheepish as he avoided John's eyes. "OK, so someone was playing 'Oceans 11' in the breakroom as I was brooding over you being sent out on another fun-filled mission with your band of Warner Bros. wanna-bes. The minions were critiquing the robbery methods, and, well, the plans just came to me."

"How does this get back at the SGC, since it's them you're pissed at?" He felt his grin coming back. "And you were brooding about me? So this isn't so much Butch and Sundance as you being all Rebel Without A Cause. Don't think I didn't notice how your adventures occur when I'm offworld."

"Don't flatter yourself," Rodney muttered. But John could see a faint blush.

"Look, you adrenaline junkie, maybe I can get you a guest shot on my team, or something. Say we spotted something Ancient-looking that we need your trained eye for."

"Good luck with that," Rodney said, trying to hide his pleased smile. "The SGC doesn't like scientists on gate teams."

"Ha, not true. Daniel Jackson."

Rodney snorted. "Daniel Jackson is not a scientist, he's Earth's lucky rabbit foot. When you've died a couple of times, hung out on the Ascended plane, and gotten the Asgard to name ships after you, you pretty much get the run of the galaxy."

"That's just because they don't know you--"

"They don't want to." He sighed, and his shoulders drooped. "Besides, there's a note in my file advising that I not be allowed to go through the gate."

"What? They won't let you?"

"I'm a home world security asset, and as such I'm to be kept close. You and your gene are a tool, Sheppard. Because of what I know and can do, I have the potential to be a threat, possibly vulnerable to either coercion or bribery."

"This is all written down somewhere?"

"What do you think the IOC and everyone does with their time? They laugh at me at the SGC, but someone's looked at our mission reports and made a note of what I can do when I put my mind to it."

John considered Rodney's capabilities from a suspicious government's point of view. "Hotwiring primitive nukes . . . "

Rodney nodded grimly. "Destroying solar systems. Sam Carter can do that sort of thing, too, but she's trusted. I'm not."

"I trust you."

He smiled briefly. "But they won't let you go offworld with me. After all, how fast could we be back in Pegasus via the gate bridge if we just punched in a different address?"

"That's desertion," John snapped.

"And that's why you get to go through the gate."

There was silence for several moments. Rodney got up and went to the window. John stared at his hands and wondered which of his superior officers had seen these reports Rodney had hacked into. Which of the people John saluted looked at him and thought, 'Deserter.' He studied Rodney's back, trying not to think what it would be like to work in a situation where you were both too valuable and too untrustworthy to be given your freedom. 

"You'd really go?" he finally said. "You'd go back to Pegasus on your own?"

Rodney shrugged. "I don't miss the Wraith, hell, no. But the Ori creep me out, too. I at least know how to kill Wraith." He began gesturing in a more comfortingly Rodney-like manner. "It wouldn't be that hard for a few people to stay under the radar. We know our way around Pegasus, we know what kind of resources are available. Think what still might be on Sateda, for instance. Maybe piles of those guns of Ronon's you love so much. We could go to New Athos, pick up Ronon and Teyla, head out to--"

John caught himself nodding and running over logistics in his mind: They'd need a ship that would fit through the gates to get through the Midway station, but those were available offworld, and with the team back together-- He jumped to his feet and tried to outpace his treasonous thoughts.

"We can't go back, Rodney--or at least, I can't go back. It's over. Atlantis is over."

"Just because somebody else says so?"

"Yeah. Because they say so. That's how it works. You get sent someplace, you serve your guts out, then they send you somewhere else, and that's it."

Rodney crossed his arms and glared. "I keep forgetting that you chose to live like this. That you chose to live your life at the whim of someone else."

The contempt stung. "I'm a soldier, Rodney. That's what soldiers do. And I haven't stopped being proud of that."

Rodney dropped his eyes. "Not that they're worthy of you."

John's pleasure in the words was more than overwhelmed by dread. Was he going to get a call from Sam Carter one of these days, saying Rodney was missing again, but she couldn't find his tracker anywhere on Earth? "So if you had access to the gate, you'd punch in someplace in Pegasus and make a break for it?"

"I'd think about it. But probably not."

"Why not?"

Rodney looked up and met John's eyes. "You're not the only one who believes in No Man Left Behind." He spun around to stare out the window.

After a couple of seconds, John remembered to breathe. "Have I a too uncertain virtue, to keep you on the earth?" he murmured, remembering something from a long-ago English class.

"What?" Rodney asked over his shoulder.

"Nothing."

Rodney turned, sighing. "I'm hungry. There's a damned good steakhouse downstairs, I could buy you a hunk of grilled flesh from an animal we both recognize if you want."

The room was kind of full of overwrought feelings. It was probably a good idea to continue any conversation in a public place, where they could both put more familiar faces over their unaccustomed emotions. "Yeah, I could eat."

"I'm just going to go--" He gestured at the bathroom, and John nodded, grateful to have a little unobserved time himself.

A few minutes later, Rodney came out, scooped the key card up from the desk, and fidgeted with a few things in his pockets.

"I'm not going to run off into the great unknown any time soon, by the way," he finally said.

John carefully didn't smile. "Neither am I."

Rodney snorted. "No thanks to those idiots they send with you."

"Are you hacking my mission reports too?"

Rodney gave him a look, then headed out the door.

 

Gallagher's Steak House smelled wonderful: roasting meat John knew his digestive tract had evolved to eat. Offworld enzymes could make dining out a real bitch. Rodney went through the standard "if there's citrus in anything, I'll die and you'll all pay horribly" routine, but the waitress nodded seriously and pointed out several items on the menu to avoid.

"I love Vegas," Rodney sighed as he sipped his beer. "They have to be nice to everybody."

"So how much have you taken them for?"

"Not as much as you think, but don't worry, I can cover the cost of dinner."

John hid his smile behind his own Guinness. "I wasn't worried about the money, McKay." He sighed and put his beer glass down. "So is the midlife crisis over? Can I tell Carter she doesn't have to worry about you anymore?"

Rodney smirked. "Blue Eyes is always going to have to worry about me. I'll get my Nobel before she gets hers, the Air Force will never let her off the reins long enough to do anything that can be made public." His smile went grim. "And she'll nod and salute and say 'Yes, sir' to whatever moronic superior officer gives the gag order. She'll let some idiot whose IQ is barely higher than his golf handicap tell one of the most brilliant minds of our generation what she's allowed to work on."

"That's what she chose, Rodney. She put her brain in service to her country, and that means she follows other people's orders." John made sure to meet Rodney's eyes. "How is it different from what you've been doing for the American military all these years?"

"I can leave whenever I want."

"So why don't you?" John raised a hand to interrupt the proto-tirade. "I don't mean that the way it sounds. I know you said you didn't want to give up the access to the good stuff, but there have to be places out there where you could nudge people in the right direction. You've always complained about what idiots you've had to work with, go train some people up in the path they should follow."

"Yeah, the IOC and the SGC would love that."

"As if you couldn't think of an end run around the non-disclosure agreements." He snickered. "Hell, you could go be a science advisor on Wormhole Extreme."

Rodney didn't laugh, and he didn't go off on just how horrible that horrible show was in the annals of horror. He just stared at John, looking both puzzled and more than a bit hurt. "You want me to leave the program?"

And there was the conversation John had been telling himself he should have with Rodney for a few weeks now. "Is it doing you any good to stay?"

"My work--"

"Is driving you nuts. They won't give you the good stuff, and it just reminds you of what we left behind. You can't be a big fish in a little pond, you need to be a big fish in the biggest pond you can find." He took a deep breath. "And you can't watch my back now. We're not team anymore."

Rodney was going to give himself an aneurism, either from hurt or fury. "How can you--you're just going to write it all off?"

"It's what soldiers do! You serve a tour and do great things, but then the tour is over and you're all reassigned, and you all shake hands or maybe even hug, and you say good-bye and know you'll never see each other again." He stared into his beer. "Maybe there's letters, and if you happen to cross paths you'll find a bar to catch up on things, but the thing that made it work, the job you were doing together, is over."

"You think that's all it was out there," Rodney said quietly, "just people doing a job?"

John met his eyes again. "You're the best friend I've ever had, Rodney, and if you're staying with the SGC out of some holdover loyalty to me, you should type up your resignation letter now."

The steaks arrived then. The server hesitated just a moment at the obvious tension at the table, but John leaned back in his chair and nodded for her to put the plates down.

Rodney sliced into his steak like it was a malfunctioning control console that offended him with its very existence. John managed to give his meal a little bit of the respect it deserved. The steak was incredibly good, and he couldn't help a little groan of satisfaction as he chewed.

"I am not leaving you to the mercy of those people," Rodney muttered.

"What?" John said, as well as he could with his mouth full.

Rodney looked up and glared. "You've been given a shit team to work with. I am not leaving you to head out into the galaxy with ignoramuses."

He tried not to look around anxiously to see who might have perked up at the word "galaxy". "There's not a lot you can do about it, McKay."

Rodney leaned closer. "It's a whole hell of a lot more than I could if I was lecturing at MIT or someplace, where I wouldn't even know what the hell was going on!"

John blinked and tried very hard not to grin. All that effort to teach McKay how to be part of a team, to become someone who could be depended on when the chips were down, and now he couldn't turn it off. The amusement went to bitterness. "It is a damned shame. You could still do good work out there."

"Damn straight." There was more of a contentedly smug air about him as consumed his steak, and he summoned the server for another beer.

John never thought he'd miss watching McKay on the other side of a table being a glutton. It was even kind of fun watching the servers jump to his bidding. The man deserved minions, though John would rather have a heart-to-heart with a Wraith than admit it out loud. Maybe now that McKay knew that the jig was up, he'd content himself with a semi-wild weekend in Sin City and go back to his SGC-issue minions at Area 51.

Something in McKay's pocket beeped twice, making him jump.

John smirked as he finished his beer. "More of that insanely crucial work that you can't leave behind even when you go off on your nefarious spree?"

McKay didn't pull out his phone. "Yes, or rather, no. Nothing I need to run off for, but--" He stabbed his last bit of steak and swiped it through the bits of garlic and juice still on the plate. "--I should finish up here and take a look at it."

"Oh." John pretended he wasn't as disappointed as he felt. "So no time for finding some late show with girls in feathers and rhinestones?"

McKay smirked at him. "The Rat Pack has left the building, Colonel. But I hear Planet Hollywood has girls in lingerie as card dealers."

"I want to see the show girls with five-foot feather head things and bits of cloth that only exist to stick the shiny things on."

"How many beers have you had?"

Possibly too many, or too few. His brain was going into places he tried to keep it out of. "I wish Teyla and Ronon could see this."

McKay blinked at him for several moments. "Teyla would get six job offers in the first twenty minutes, then beat up someone for trying to objectify her. Ronon--" His grin was both sad and amused. "I think he'd blush a lot."

John chuckled. "Yeah, he would."

McKay pulled out his wallet and then a big wad of cash. He saw John blink. "It was good service. Minions who take pride in their work should be encouraged." The server materialized quickly with the check, which John did not manage to get to first.

Walking to the restaurant entrance cleared John's head a little. "You're not really going to go do work, are you? We're in Vegas, and it's not even midnight yet. There's got to be something more interesting to do around here than stare at numbers."

McKay studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "I suppose so. There's an information desk over there, find out what's playing at this hour while I visit the little genius' room."

"Right."

John had spent ten minutes comparing sports bars to see if any showed hockey and checking nearby shows before he thought to wonder if McKay was dealing with a kidney stone or something. He looked up and around--and noticed the men's restroom right next to the information desk. In the opposite direction from the way McKay had gone into the crowd.

Maybe he knew of a nicer restroom in that direction. And maybe he was still a conniving little shit who hadn't given up on any of his plans, even with Air Force Colonels showing they were on to him. 

He smiled at the nice girl behind the information desk, then drifted off to a nook near a little store pretending to be a news stand. He pulled out his scanner.

McKay was moving, and not towards John. He was several dozen yards away, back towards the service areas and offices. John suddenly wondered just what processes were running on that laptop upstairs, and why had that little device in McKay's pocket beeped? 

A large man wearing a suit and a radio curled in his ear strolled by, accompanying a woman pushing a heavy wheeled cart with several locks. Cash, headed back to the offices. John wondered a little hysterically if he was George Clooney or Brad Pitt in this movie.

Whatever, it didn't matter. He waited several seconds, then sauntered along behind the guard and the money. Looked like he had a mission today after all, making sure the Pegasus Kid didn't go down.

The door to the back areas of the casino was behind a desk near the elevators up to the rooms. McKay stood nearby, back mostly turned to the desk, apparently engrossed in his "phone." John wandered through the nearby bank of slot machines until he was in front of McKay. "You ditched me," he said softly.

Rodney jumped a little and stared at him. He blushed, but he didn't look confounded for long. "I'd have found you."

John glanced at the desk out of the corner of his eye. "After you . . . took care of business?"

The McKay chin came up. "Yes."

"Dammit, Rodney, I thought we agreed--"

"I agreed to nothing," McKay snapped viciously. "Nothing you said changed my mind about anything. If anything, it pissed me off even more."

The guy at the desk was observing with the interest of a bored nightshifter with a soap opera in view. John grabbed Rodney's arm and dragged him farther away. Rodney yanked himself free next to some pachinko machines.

"Way to be subtle, Sheppard."

"I didn't think you wanted to talk about this in front of their security people, Rodney."

"I don't intend to talk about this at all."

John kept his fists at his side. "What good do you think is this going to do? What benefit is it to anybody to do this?"

Rodney drew himself up to his full height, which let his angry blue eyes glare nearly directly into John's. "The benefit is to my soul, Colonel. I will not be their good little minion, I will not bow and scrape and say 'How high?' when the SGC says Jump. They need me much more than I need them, and I will not be defined by the small minds of this planet."

The last time John had seen that outraged defiance, things had blown up not long after. He thought again of that computer upstairs and the things beeping in Rodney's pocket. "What have you done, McKay?"

The defiance gained a bit of boyish "This is very cool, even if I'm going to get in trouble for it". "Nanites," Rodney finally said.

John had to strangle his shout. "Nanites?! Are you insane?"

The sigh and eyeroll were disturbingly familiar and endearing. "Oh, yes, you've caught me, Colonel. I've infected the planet I live on with deadly micro machines that will end life as we know it. Where do I pick up my hairless cat and the sharks with lasers on their heads?"

John stared at him, then he grabbed Rodney's head, leaned in, and kissed him. Rodney made a satisfying "mrmph!" noise and flailed a little, then John leaned back to appreciate the rarely seen McKay Gobsmacked Expression.

Rodney blinked for several moments, then raised his fingers to his lips. After a moment, his hand turned and his fingers moved a millimeter towards John's lips. John's breath caught--uneasily? Hopefully? He wasn't sure himself anymore, but his heart was beating quickly in anticipation. Then calculations flickered through Rodney's eyes, and his fingers curled closed.

"When you and she were flipping a coin on who was going to come here and intercept me, did you and Sam discuss techniques?" he asked coolly. "Did you get the final nod because you were more willing to go the extra mile, as it were? Because everyone knows Sam wouldn't do what you just did."

John was half-distracted by the amount of disappointment that he felt. "*I* didn't know I was going to do what I just did. Carter and I did not discuss kissing you as a way to distract you from your nefarious plot."

Rodney frowned in wary befuddlement. "Then why?"

John shrugged helplessly. "Because--because you're so you. Because it's Vegas. Because it's Earth, and neither one of us wants to be here, but we are, and we've only got each other, now, and you're so--"

Rodney grinned. "Me?"

"Yeah."

Slowly Rodney reached out to touch John's shoulder, then moved a little closer. John licked his lips, which made Rodney smirk just a little. He raised a questioning eyebrow, and when John didn't say anything, he leaned forward himself for a kiss. John put his hands on Rodney's hips, just because he could.

After a couple of seconds, Rodney leaned back, grinning in delight. "So," he said, bouncing, "is this the part where we go back to my room and do fun things that no one in this town will give a damn about?"

Over at the desk, John saw the guy still watching, and he remembered all the cameras that saw everything. "No, I'm afraid not. It's not that kind of buddy movie."

Children who had lost their balloons would look just as betrayed. "Well, why not?"

"I may not want to be on Earth, but I do still want to be in the Air Force."

"Well, it's not like I'm here under my own name, who would know?"

"You're here under a fake name? But they want credit cards for rooms." Rodney fidgeted a little. "You have credit cards under false identities?"

Rodney shrugged. "Not everything I get up to is something I want the SGC or all those committees knowing about."

John grinned. "I guess I'm not as experienced at conniving as the Pegasus Kid."

"The--oh." Rodney blushed, but he looked pleased. "So does that mean we're going up to my room, that's under a name no one at the SGC knows?"

John was highly tempted. A giddy Rodney in the throes of playing with new toys was one his very favorite things in two galaxies. He was kind of giddy himself at the idea of being McKay's new toy. But he hadn't gotten to his hard-won rank by giving in to temptation--often. "I really don't think it's a good idea."

"Cocktease," Rodney muttered.

"Hey!"

Rodney shrugged mulishly and pouted.

"Crap, McKay." John rubbed the back of his neck. "It's just--I've got to go back into that mountain and pretend I just came down here to give you a talking to. I'm going to have enough trouble reporting back to Carter without smirking at her."

"Why would you smirk at Sam?"

He let himself smirk. "Because you've kissed me and not her."

Rodney tried not to grin as he sniffed. "You don't know I didn't kiss her first."

"Yeah, I do."

"Anyway, you're sneaky, I bet you could look her straight in the eye and tell her nothing at all happened."

"Special Ops really doesn't go into concealing being smug because you've gotten lucky."

Rodney blinked. "You'd be smug?"

John risked another touch to his face. "Yeah. And I would think I'd gotten lucky."

The delighted wonder was kind of heartbreaking. "Is this--this isn't just because we're in Vegas, is it?"

John shook his head. "If we were home . . ." He mentally kicked himself for the anger that showed up again in Rodney's eyes. On top of the general "I hate dancing to their tune" antagonism, there was a new wash of "They're keeping me from getting laid" outrage. And all of that brought the Pegasus Kid back to the fore. "Rodney, come on, let's just get out of here anyway."

He glanced down at the phone/scanner/thingie he'd been working with and sighed. "I'm afraid I can't go just yet, Shep--Colo--" He frowned.

"I think you're allowed to call me John at this point."

Rodney quirked a grin at him. "John. But still, I need to get in there."

John took a deep breath and let it go. "Why?" He frowned at the fidget he got.

"There are some things that I need to, um, turn off."

"Turn them off from that computer upstairs."

"I can't. The nanites have a self-destruct deadline, but that's for emergencies. The plan was to get in and disable them myself."

"Dammit, Rodney, you can't keep doing this! You're going to get caught!"

"No, I'm not. I'll be in and out of there in fifteen minutes."

"How the hell are you going to get past the guard?"

Rodney snickered. He was obviously starting on one hell of an adrenaline rush. "How many times have we asked each other that?"

John wasn't feeling very amused. The danger here might not be as dire, but there was still real risk, and one of his team was putting himself in harm's way. "I suppose you're going to tell me you have a plan?"

"I do." He started to move towards the desk, but John grabbed his arm. "You're making the wrong kind of scene, John. Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

That cocksure, crooked grin did very bad things to John's sense of responsibility. "Don't you dare get caught."

"Don't worry, this isn't something worth saying 'So long, John' for." Rodney quirked an eyebrow at John's wince. "Chew on that one for a while. I'll be right back."

There was a row of slot machines near the desk with no one perched in the chairs. John dropped into one of them and watched sullenly as Rodney approached the guy on duty. He pulled a leather folder out of his pocket and flipped it open. "Hi, Ken Leishman from CPA Security. I've got an appointment to look at the servers."

The guy stopped smirking and frowned. "An appointment? At this hour?"

Rodney shrugged. "We've had reports from several casinos we work with about weird activity in the small hours. We've got people checking various systems to see if we can spot anything." He nodded at the computer on the desk. "I should be in there, it's been set up for weeks."

The guy tapped a few keys and peered at the screen. "Huh, yeah, Leishman." He craned his head for another look at the ID, which Rodney held up helpfully. He shrugged himself. "Rotten time to have to make house calls."

Rodney flipped the ID folder closed and tucked it away. "Evil never sleeps."

The guy glanced towards John and hinted at a leer. "'Course, it never hurts to mix business with pleasure."

Rodney glared at him. "I thought your town had a motto about that sort of thing--" he leaned forward to study the name tag on the guy's shirt "--Tomy. With one M."

The guy cleared his throat and put away all facial expressions. "I'll just let you through, Mr. Leishman."

The science labs of Atlantis would have recognized the tight smile Rodney sent the guy's way. "Thank you, Tomy." He glanced casually back at John. "I won't be long."

John blinked at having attention drawn to him, but he grinned anyway. "I'll be right here, honey." He nearly laughed at the double take Rodney gave him and added a little finger flutter of a wave. Rodney snorted, then gave Tomy a pointed look till the guy pressed a buzzer that released a side door that led into the area behind the desk. Another buzzer released the door that led into the offices themselves.

Every Pegasus-honed instinct told John to follow Rodney into the potential danger. Nothing good ever happened by letting McKay wander off into the native temple/lab/archive by himself. Earth wasn't supposed to feel so much like one of those missions where John's hands were tied and he had to wait till whatever arcane pursuit McKay was involved in was resolved.

John was distracted from his glowering at the door McKay had gone through by noticing Tomy trying to subtly watch him from the corner of his eye there at the desk. John wondered if the people on Eye in the Sky duty had also been observing that bit of military-career-ending personal interaction and were also smirking in nightshift boredom. Or maybe they were busy doing their jobs looking for threats to the money instead of wasting time on what was probably pretty mild action by Vegas standards.

A slightly drunk couple wobbled up to the desk to exchange some chips for real money. John waited till they were gone, then eased his swivel chair around and stretched his legs out. He put on his standard "I'm surrounded by Wraith/Genii who want to kill me" smirk as Tomy looked back in his direction. "Was there something you wanted, Tomy? With one M?"

"Oh!" Tomy blushed and focused on the computer in front of him.

John checked his watch. Three minutes. Damn. The nearby machines binged and chirped and roared and whirred. A couple of rows over, a sultry female voice cooed, "Play me." A sudden blast of electronic bells from the machine behind him made John jump. He dug a quarter out of his pants pocket and turned to feed the demanding machine, then discovered that this particular device had a five dollar minimum bet. The slot on the machine helpfully pointed out that it took ones, fives, tens, twenties, fifties, and hundreds.

He checked his watch again. Seven minutes.

He thought he heard a snicker from Tomy, but the guy was keeping his head down when John glared at him again.

Another security guard accompanying another cart of cash came up. Tomy cleared them through the first door, and the guard punched in a code to get them into the inner offices. John tried not to tense too obviously. There were no shouts--and no shots--and Tomy gave no indication that anything interesting was happening anywhere near him.

Ten minutes.

John got up as casually as he could and wished for a P90 and the right to threaten Tomy. He took a slow stroll among the machines, trying to burn some more time before wandering back to the desk. He was about to talk himself into lounging artfully on the desk and trying to charm Tomy when he saw a familiar silhouette in the window of the door. With a buzz, the door opened, and Rodney came back out. His eyes had the manic gleam of chicanery committed.

"Hey, Mr. Leishman." Tomy grinned just a little in John's direction. "Find anything?"

"Nothing I wasn't expecting, Tomy." Fingers snapped and fists tapped. "I'll send in a report in a few days." 

"Cool. And I guess you've got other things to do with the rest of your evening."

"You guess right." Rodney put a hand on the door handle to leave the desk area, then turned his head to glare when the handle didn't move.

Tomy jumped. "Oh! Right." He pushed the button under the counter to release the door.

Rodney strolled out and towards John. 

"So that's done?" John said as calmly as he could.

Rodney beamed at him like nothing in the least bit risky had gone on. "Yep, no more work to do."

"Have a nice night, guys," Tomy called.

Rodney grabbed John's arm and pulled him away. "You can't hit him, that would be noticeable." They headed out into the main section of the casino.

John pulled loose--but he didn't go very far. "I think what we were doing was noticeable enough."

Rodney blushed, but his grin faded. "And we don't want to be noticeable."

The last thing John wanted was to be noticed by the wrong people for the wrong thing. The next to last thing he wanted was to see the life and light going out of Rodney's face. Career-threatening things were already on tape somewhere--if someone thought to look. "So did you do anything other than spray around some Nanite-B-Gon?"

Rodney glared at him but didn't rise to the bait. "I wanted to, I thought of putting in a note that would pop up in a month's time, but it might get traced back to tonight. If it were just me, I wouldn't care, but . . ."

John felt a grin escape. "Did the sidekick screw up the plans of the Pegasus Kid? I'm sorry."

Rodney's smile came back a little. "The sidekick's worth it." But he didn't quite look at John.

It wasn't anyone's job to protect John, he was supposed to be the protector. But he appreciated the hell out of Rodney's efforts. He put a hand on Rodney's arm to stop him. "The sidekick thinks you're worth it, too."

The smile Rodney gave him was kind of sad and restrained, but his eyes went real big when John stepped in to kiss him again, in full view of casino staff and cameras and any gamblers who cared to look up from their games. Flailing hands settled on the lapels of John's leather coat, and he smiled against the belatedly cooperative lips.

Rodney pulled away a couple of inches. "Does this mean we get to--"

"No, I'm sorry."

"Dammit, John!"

John had to laugh at the flattering frustration on Rodney's face, which made Rodney scowl.

"It's not like you wouldn't get in as much trouble for kissing a man as for anything else," he muttered.

John sighed and pulled him into a daring embrace. "Like I said, I can walk back into the mountain and pretend nothing happened right now. And I still care enough about them to pretend."

Rodney humphed and put his arms around John. "I want to go home."

"I know, buddy. Me too."

"How long till you retire?" John stiffened, and Rodney patted him. "I know, I know, never mind." He took a reluctant step away. "So where are you staying?"

"Caesar's. When were you planning on leaving?"

"I'm booked for another day--" He sighed at John's glare. "But I can check out now, I guess. Though I hate the thought of going back to Ar--" He glanced around. "Back to work."

"Well, I'd offer you a ride back, but F-16s don't come with back seats." He grinned at Rodney's double-take. "Sam wanted to make sure I got here quick. Not that that helped. How did they know you were coming?"

"Oh, the other, um, the place in Laughlin uses the same security company as this place. I, well . . ."

John grinned. "Gathered some information, left some information. Did what you do best." Rodney ducked his head in his version of bashful pride. "Is that why you chose this place?"

He started to answer, then yet another security guard wandered past, scanning the room. Rodney casually turned away and headed towards the elevators. John trailed along, mildly scolding himself for how pleased he was that Rodney had learned how to be stealthy in the field. He followed McKay onto an elevator and chuckled as he pushed the button for his floor. "Dr. McKay, are you luring me up to your room for nefarious purposes?"

Rodney gave him a hopeful look. "Maybe?"

John winced and regretted giving any encouragement, then Rodney scowled.

"Crap," he muttered.

"Buddy, I'm sor--"

"No, no, not you--but you're a bastard for teasing--but I suddenly pictured myself going into the lab and *not* being able to gloat about bagging a gorgeous Air Force Colonel."

"See? It's bad enough already." He leaned into Rodney's bulk. "I'd love to wipe that half-stupid stare off O'Neill's face."

Rodney leaned back. "Yeah, the one that makes you wonder if the Asgard lost important bits of the man while bouncing him around."

It was more than lust and attraction that kept John resting against Rodney. He remembered tucking in against the man in a tent offworld and trading jokes and stories until Ronon or Teyla told them to be quiet already. Or, rather, Teyla told them to be quiet or Ronon shied a boot at them. John longed for Atlantis, but it was Atlantis with Rodney. If he was offered the chance to go home without him, he didn't know if he could do it. Atlantis would be beautiful, but voiceless; an amazing piece of technology, but without her soul. Home was Atlantis, but it was also Rodney.

The elevator slowed to a stop, and John slowly peeled himself away. He grinned happily at Rodney's sigh of disappointment. Rodney gave him a sour look and stomped down the hallway to his room. He shoved the keycard in the slot and yanked it out, then pushed the door open. John followed, but he stayed near the door as Rodney bustled around the room, gathering his stuff. 

Rodney flipped open his laptop and tapped some keys, then glanced up at John. "Why are you lurking over there?"

John shrugged. "Safer."

"Safer than coming into the room? Why?" He frowned as John shrugged again, then glanced around the room, stared at the bed for a moment, then ducked his head and grinned gleefully.

"You're really great for the ego, McKay."

"Well, I'm flattered all to hell! You, who've had alien princesses and Ascended goddesses chasing after you, won't come into a hotel room with me because you don't trust yourself!" He did a very brief happy bounce, then stopped and frowned. "Dammit."

A snort of laughter escaped, which led to a glare, which led to a full set of guffaws.

"Pathetic," Rodney sniffed. He finished shoving his clothes in a backpack and the laptop into a reinforced computer bag, then shoved past a still snickering John to go into the bathroom.

John had control of himself by the time Rodney came out and dropped the last items into the backpack. "You're not planning on driving back to your lab tonight, are you?"

"I didn't get up until 3 o'clock this afternoon, I'm fine." Rodney paused to study him. "You're flying back tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, I'm out of practice at flying at night in machines that aren't thought controlled." He shrugged. "But I've got that room at Caesar's I can crash in."

They both paused to contemplate the potential usefulness of hotel rooms, then both sighed.

"I want to go home," Rodney said again.

The bitterness got away from John. "Yeah, well, we can't." The look on Rodney's face changed from pouting to plotting. "McKay . . ."

"We can't go home--yet. Not while those Ancients-Come-Lately are there."

"It's their city, Rodney, as much as we hate it. Atlantis changed sides."

"Only because they made her." His fingers flickered through some almost finger snaps. Not quite a triumphant epiphany, but sign of ideas a-brewing.

"What are you going to do, McKay?"

The grin was dazzling. "Someday? Terribly filthy things to you. Right now? Go back to work and pull up everything I've got on Helia and her lot and see what I can see." He zipped up his backpack with inappropriate enthusiasm.

"You worry me when you get like this."

McKay slung his backup onto his shoulder and headed for the door, patting John's shoulder as he went past. "But don't I always save your ass anyway?"

"Yes, you do."

The checkout was quick and uneventful and for a name other than McKay or Leishman. Mr. Robert McCall requested that his car be brought around. John stepped away to admire the faux-Manhattan skyline on the lobby wall so that he wouldn't laugh.

Rodney hoisted his backpack to his shoulder and headed for doors out to the valet stand out on the curb.

John fell into step beside him. "Did you rent a black Jaguar?"

Rodney glared at him. "Do not mock The Equalizer. I loved that show. And he's got the same initials I do." He sighed. "And all I could get was a beat up Taurus from the motor pool."

They got out to the curb in time for a Taurus to arrive at the curb and a too-perky car jockey to bounce out.

"It's brown," Rodney added, some of the gleeful vibrancy fading out of him.

John at least had another fighter jet ride to look forward to as he headed back to his workaday life, and his daily grind contained the horizons of other worlds. It hurt to watch Rodney pull in his wings so he would fit into the box he'd been put into.

Rodney tipped the car jockey, tossed his backpack in the backseat, then placed the laptop bag carefully in the footwell. He slammed the door closed then turned around to face John. "Well." He glanced around at the surprising number of people moving around at midnight. "Don't fly into a mountain on the way back, Colo--Shep . . ." He stopped and frowned.

"My name is John." Something about Rodney always did make him brave. He stepped closer, took hold of Rodney's shoulders, and leaned in to kiss him. Nothing dramatic or pornographic, but sure and deliberate. Rodney gave that wonderful squeak again, then wrapped his arms around John and surprised him once more with the strength he hid.

"You be careful," Rodney muttered into his ear when they separated.

"Yes, sir."

Rodney tightened his hold enough to make John go "oof", then released him and stepped back. The giddyness was back, matched with the resolution that defeated black, energy-sucking monsters and might just win them back their city. He tilted his head and studied John a moment, then went "Hmm."

"What?" John asked suspiciously.

"I don't know if you're better looking than Paul Newman, but I don't mind in the least being Robert Redford."

John was still laughing as Rodney got in his car, dutifully snapped on the seat belt, then, with a last look back, drove away.

He took a cab back to Caesar's, still smiling to himself. He wandered around the edges of the casino, casually watching the backstage bustle, then spotted a public Internet terminal near the VIP desk. He entered his room number to cover the obscene access charge, then went to Google. His search took him to Wikipedia, where he had to muffle more laughter.

Ken Leishman. Occupation: Mechanic, Door-to-door salesman, Thief. A Canadian pilot who had robbed banks and masterminded the biggest gold theft in that country's history. A Canadian folk hero. 

It wasn't the Mark of Zorro, but it was close.

Maybe it was a good thing Rodney was being distracted by the idea of regaining Atlantis. It might keep him out of casinos and banks and the computer systems of security companies. Heck, the SGC would approve of Rodney researching the Ancients.

And maybe . . .

Maybe it would work. Maybe Rodney could find a way to get their home back. John really wanted to see him under the light of those two moons, wanted to see if, just perhaps, it was more than just the bacchanalia of Las Vegas tempting him with things that could only exist here in this mad desert city.

John ran a couple of generic searches to disguise what he'd been looking at, then shut down the computer. The dings and whirrs and bells were giving him a headache, and the chaos wasn't fun by himself. Go upstairs and watch the cable, reattach the mostly-well-behaved exterior of an Air Force Lieutenant Colonel. Dream again of Atlantis. Wake up alone and regretting it more than usual.

As he headed for the elevators, though, he realized something. There was more hope at the bottom of his mind now, more anticipation. Part of him was convinced that Rodney would succeed. Betting against the man was rarely a good idea. Down where he tried to keep such things hidden, John really believed that before too much more time had passed, that he would be on Atlantis again.

After all, Earth was far too small to hold the Pegasus Kid.


End file.
